


Your Imperial Highness

by NeverwinterThistle



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, Post-Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverwinterThistle/pseuds/NeverwinterThistle
Summary: You will always come back, she thinks. Opposite her, Emily sits and waits. Sits in her lovely clothes, her unscarred face, her eyes as hard as Billie’s. She’s more than she was, the last time Billie rescued her. Colder, stronger, sharp as the stones that litter Dunwall’s dangerous coasts. And they are chained together by an event they both regret, that made them who they are. In a way, they made each other.





	Your Imperial Highness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spacehopper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/gifts).



> Your prompts were exactly the same things I wanted, and it was an absolute pleasure to write for you. Thank you for the excellent ideas!

_Your Imperial Highness,_

_This package contains the pity coin you sent, which was neither wanted nor needed, and also a warning that_

*

_Empress Emily Kaldwin,_

_By now you’ll have noticed that the mark is gone. It’s not coming back, which means that you need to be careful_

_*_

_Lady Emily,_

_~~Maybe I should have asked you first, before I~~ _

_~~I couldn’t let him stay there, it wasn’t right. You’d understand if~~ _

_~~With Corvo as Duke in Serkonos, you don’t have a Royal Protector, and I’m worried~~ _

_~~I heard about your Wyman, and I’m so sorry~~ _

_You deserved better than this_

_*_

_Emily,_

_I’m coming to Dunwall. We need to talk. Don’t do anything stupid until I get there._

_Yours,_

_Billie Lurk._

_*_

“’Don’t do anything stupid until I get there’,” Emily repeats. “Those were your words, weren’t they? I bet that took a lot of nerve.”

Billie sits straight on her too-soft cushion, the velvet crushing under her weight. There is a low table on her left, and a tiny tray of sweet tea and pastries she hasn’t touched. The door is guarded; soldiers in their polished, proper uniforms, who stare at her tatty coat and sneer, and are much too far away to stop her from killing their Empress.

This is not the way she wants to think. But it’s the way she was taught, the way she embraced and encouraged, and the only way she knows how to exist. She judges the distance; the guards to herself, herself to Emily, to the little knife on the tray by her pastries, or the glove she only needs to peel off to start killing.

It would be very easy.

This is not acceptable.

“Does it matter what I said, if you didn’t listen?” Finally, she reaches for her cup of tea. Small and dainty, it sits ridiculous between her gloved hands. “All you had to do was wait and keep your head down. Instead you decide it’s a good time to remind everyone that you reassigned your Royal Protector to Serkonos, and now you don’t have a bodyguard. Seriously. A _tournament?_ What were you thinking?”

Emily lifts her chin. An old habit, Billie thinks, from the days when she didn’t yet have the height to tower over anyone. Maybe it still impresses people; nobles sans spine, stared down and silenced. Maybe it makes her feel stronger. Superior. Billie sees it and thinks, _this is when the assassin would cut your throat._ She wants to reach out and cover it with a hand that is so much more expendable. She wants to ask just how many different ways Emily has come up with to make her own murder easier.

“The tournament worked for my mother,” Emily snaps. “At least, until you helped to…It worked. And it’s not like I have any other options. All the people I trust are either getting too old for it, or dead. At least this way I can make my own judgments and choose the one I think is most competent.”

“You could do that. You could also hang flags from the Tower walls, inviting anyone with a bit of coin and a grudge to send an assassin your way.”

“It would have been fine if I still had the mark!”

Yes, Billie thinks wearily. So it would. “Fine for you,” she says. “For a little while at least. I had to do it, Emily. I couldn’t leave him there, he didn’t- he couldn’t be there anymore, he was desperate to leave. If I’d failed, he would have found someone else to get him out. Corvo, probably.” She sees the Empress flinch. “He tried me and Daud first, so he wouldn’t have to turn to Corvo. But he was _desperate_.”

“Easy for you to say,” Emily retorts. “You’re not the one scrambling to cover your own back. I sent Corvo to Serkonos because I believed the mark would buy me enough time to find a replacement.”

“And now you’ve learned a valuable lesson about betting your safety on black magic.”

Emily clenches her fists where they rest in her lap. “I can’t believe you,” she says. “You actually think you have a right to lecture me, after everything. We were _done_. It was _over_.”

Billie finds her own voice rising to match Emily’s. From the corner of her eye, she sees the guards start to tense. Not fast enough; they don’t believe she is a threat. Not in her old coat, without weapons or allies. They’re getting ready to toss her out, not neutralise her. Wrong. She should never have been allowed this far into Dunwall Tower.

“You’re the one who sent me that coin,” she barks at a startled Emily, who clearly doesn’t get shouted at nearly as often as she needs. “I didn’t ask for charity, or pity-”

“It was repayment! For my food, and my lodgings, and all the ammunition and gear you got for me while I was on your ship! I didn’t want to be in your debt!”

“You should have spent it on a bit of common sense!”

She wonders if Emily will hit her. They sit on their lovely, dainty couches, facing each other, leaning forward and straining to get in each other’s faces. She wonders if Emily is thinking longingly of a firing squad. Billie herself is sorely tempted to grab the Empress by her lovely long hair and drag her down to the Tower’s official visitor quarters, where even now she harbours two Tyvian assassins. Two at _least_ , and Billie has only been here for the single afternoon; there will be more that she missed, sent under the guise of competing in a stupid tournament for the stupid prize of being the stupid Empress’ bodyguard.

“Well, you’re here,” Emily says, and doesn’t go for the slap Billie is expecting. “Sitting in _my_ home, surrounded by _my_ guards, and trying to give me a reason to have you arrested. So who’s in need of common sense now?”

“Still you,” Billie retorts. “You lost your mark, but I’m still…something. If I want to leave, I will.”

And Emily smiles.

For a moment, Billie wonders if one of them is losing her mind; she wouldn’t place bets on which, because neither of them have a history that lends itself to sanity.

“What’s so funny?”

“I wondered,” Emily says. She settles back against her pretty velvet cushions, smoothing the cloth of her tunic. There is a satisfaction to her smile that Billie doesn’t like. “Corvo passed along a couple of rumours from Karnaca.”

“What ‘rumours’?”

“Messenger ships sail faster than whatever dinghy you crossed the strait on,” Emily says. “You’re the one who decided to drop what was left of the Outsider on Corvo’s doorstep and leave him to handle the mess. He wrote to me immediately. And the Outsider had a few things to say about your current…state of existence.”

“Rat bastard,” Billie hisses. “I spared his _life._ ”

Emily shrugs. “I already knew some of it,” she says. “The timelines, where they crossed, how they changed.” The smile fades. “I thought I’d helped you,” she says, quieter now. “Stilton was- I thought if I stopped him before Delilah worked her magic, he’d keep his sanity, and you wouldn’t get yourself maimed. But I guess it’s not that simple.”

Her story doesn’t correspond to any memories Billie has; only to the dreams that have plagued her for such a long time, and the inner, phantom aches that didn’t exist until the Outsider pulled them out of her. It doesn’t make sense. It’s the only thing that makes sense.

“So you knew,” Billie says. She gulps down the rest of her tea, burning her tongue; it seems a better alternative than throwing the cup at Emily’s face and storming for the window. More dignified, somehow. Slightly. “Fine. Whatever. That doesn’t change my whole point for visiting, which is that you’re making a colossal mistake with this tournament of yours. You have _assassins_ under your Void-damned royal roof. And no, I’m not counting myself.”

“I know,” Emily says. “There’s one from Tyvia-”

“ _Two_ from Tyvia.”

“Two from Tyvia,” Emily agrees. “One from Abele’s remaining supporters, and another from Morley. I’m expecting a couple from the Dunwall nobility, maybe from outer Gristol as well. How many did you spot?”

“Just the Tyvians,” Billie says, trying not to feel too put out. “But I’ve barely been in the city four hours. I was planning on running reconnaissance after nightfall. Probably while you’re entertaining them all with that stupid play this evening.”

“Is it a stupid play, if it leaves you free to search their belongings?” Emily asks. “Just a thought. Anyway, I’ll make sure they’re distracted until midnight, which should give you enough time to check on them all. We can meet back here at half past to discuss your findings.”

“I’ll go in through the servant’s quarters. That’ll give me plenty of time just in case-” Billie catches herself, appalled. This isn’t right. This is mission talk, planning talk, the talk of a Billie she hasn’t been in years. Choosing routes, distractions, preparing for the accidental and the unexpected. Such an easy habit to slip back into. And Emily watches her with such a knowing look.

“Would you like some time to think about it?” she offers. “I can let you borrow my study for a few hours. There are pens, paper. Lots of unbelievably ugly vases, if you feel like you need to throw something.”

“This isn’t funny. I’m not…I didn’t come here to turn back into who I used to be. I left this place for a reason.”

“And then you came back,” Emily says. “Because you thought I needed a warning. That’s the second time you’ve returned to a place you ran away from, just to rescue me. It’s starting to look like a habit.”

She’s right; it is. And Billie knows by now that however far she drags her chains, eventually the slack runs out, and the source never changes. Kill your captors, or keep them; there is no leaving them behind. The ones who took Deirdre are long dead, but she would sooner harm herself than do the same to Emily.

 _You will always come back,_ Billie thinks to herself. Opposite her, Emily sits and waits. Sits in her lovely clothes, her unscarred face, her eyes as hard as Billie’s. She’s more than she was, the last time Billie rescued her. Colder, stronger, sharp as the stones that litter Dunwall’s dangerous coasts. And they are chained together by an event they both regret, that made them who they are. In a way, they made each other.

Billie exhales. “What’s this tournament really about?”

“Exactly what it says on the banners,” Emily says. “Finding the Empress a new Royal Protector. And I think it’s done the job well enough.”

“You haven’t picked anyone yet.”

“No need,” Emily says. “I think she might have picked _me_.”

 _Of course,_ Billie thinks. _You’ve always had a brain on you. Got me real good this time._ She has to admire the planning that’s gone into this. The sheer, shameless nerve. The courage, to face a shadow from her past, and tame it for her future.

This is not forgiveness. There will never be forgiveness; Emily swore it, and Billie believes her. Understands her. She will never forgive herself, and that’s just how it has to be.

This is not redemption, either. Redemption is a concept for people who believe themselves to be better than their pasts, and that their future selves have the capacity to balance a tottering scale. Billie doesn’t believe either of those things, although she would like to. She is who she is, and she did what she did. Nothing she does from now on will change that.

She could leave. The guards at the door seem so ceremonial, wooden toy soldiers in a child’s play castle. Emily won’t insist. She might even understand. She’s seen enough of the world to know that some people just don’t want to save themselves.

But Billie is not one of them.

She breathes, slow and deep. And sees the ache cross Emily’s face, as she realises that she’s won. A bitter victory. Hard-fought, well-earned, and bitter on the tongue. Like ashes on the wind.

“Agreed,” Billie says, in the same way she once negotiated and accepted contracts on Daud’s behalf. She used the same tone to decide an Empress’ fate. And the same again with Anton, as they discussed the need to go and warn the daughter.

“Thank you,” Emily says simply. Billie jerks her head.

“What are we going to do about all the others?” she asks. “Not to mention the assassins. I could take them, but that’s not going to do your diplomatic ties any good. And you’ll have a lot of highly skilled soldiers out for your blood.” There is in fact only one obvious solution. Billie closes her eyes and wonders what she did to deserve this. Then she winces. She knows exactly what she did. “I get it,” she says, opening her eyes. “You need me to enter and beat them all.”

“Not on your own,” Emily protests. “We’ll cheat, of course.”

“You don’t think I could win?”

Emily actually rolls her eyes. A gesture startling in its childishness, a rough edge on a pretty, polished gemstone. “Now who’s being stupid? I know you could win, but the whole point is that you don’t _have_ to, you’re supposed to be watching my back against _actual assassins_. So yes, we’re going to cheat. I’ll make sure you know what all the challenges are beforehand, and there’ll be a bit of food poisoning for the other contestants, traps that only you expect-”

“This is ridiculous,” Billie says. “You’re staging a fake competition so you can justify appointing a woman who helped murder your mother as your new Royal Protector, and you’re going to cheat to make it happen.”

“ _We_ are going to cheat,” Emily says. “You’re no better than I am. I bet you’ve already started planning how to pull it off.”

“I have to. _Apparently_ , that’s my job now.”

“It is,” Emily tells her. “And there’s almost no one else I’d trust. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about tricking you. I should have asked while I was back on the Wale.”

“You weren’t ready.”

“Neither were you.”

“Doesn’t matter now, I guess,” Billie says. “This is where we end up. I wonder if it’s always been that way. The Outsider might have known; probably too late to ask him now. Alright. Tell me about your…tournament. What’s the first challenge? Sword fighting? A brawl? A shooting contest?”

“A treasure hunt,” Emily says. She smiles; her eyes briefly soften, take on a spark that Billie can tell means trouble. “Since everyone’s come so far, and so many of my people are taking an interest in the challenges, I thought we might as well have a bit of fun.”

“You picked the wrong bodyguard if you think I’m here for fun.”

“We’ll see,” says Emily. “I might wear you down.”

“I doubt that,” Billie tells her. “But I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop you trying.”

“No, there isn’t.” Emily narrows her eyes. “Royal Protector.”

 _This is where your choices lead you,_ Billie thinks. _From one disaster to the next. Scrambling to keep your head above water, and hold up the ones you love. Fighting to keep the precious blood in their veins, to keep their hearts beating and their lungs breathing and the sea from drowning them dead. This is what you are. What you have always been._ She doesn’t resent it. There are far worse things to be than a protector.

“Come on,” Emily says. “Let’s talk assassins.” She stands, and Billie stands with her. When Emily takes her by the wrist, they share a startled look. Emily’s fades fast; Billie’s lingers as she allows herself to be tugged towards the Empress’ study.

 _Careful,_ she thinks, and then thinks, _too late._

That night, she moves her possessions into the Tower.


End file.
